


It's gonna be a long night

by rosi



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Violence, Meta humans, Romance?, Slow Burn, Snark, Yogi Bear - Freeform, a formal apology to all of australia, black market, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:52:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosi/pseuds/rosi
Summary: Between that Reddit list of deleted scenes and my general understanding of the human body, I am almost certain that there is a bit of a time jump between the rescuing of Dr. June Moon and the Bohemian Rhapsody ending to Suicide Squad. This fic fills that time jump with a love story and few cute anecdotes about what the squad did in the meantime. But mostly the love story.





	1. Prologue: Field Trip

_“_ Alright! You get thirty minutes! Only take what you can carry or what you can fit into Boomerang’s pockets!” Flag ordered as they prepared to stop.

“Why do I gotta carry ev’ryone else's shit?” protested the uncouth captain.

“What? Don't think ya can handle it?” Harley teased.

“Trust me, dollface,” he assured. “I can take it. Just make sure yer eyes aint bigger than yer stomach.”

“You're preacin’ to the choir, Digger,” Lawton chimed in. The assassin sat in the corner of the van, picking the lint off his jacket. Digger watched the dim light from the window illuminate Lawton’s face. He then watched the alternating shadows from the torrential downpour outside mar the silhouettes of his other team members.

“We are here.” The announcement came from the quiet Asian woman across from Flag. Like everyone else she wore a more casual version of her usual armor. Yet, her sword was still strapped to her back, her mask-less face as stony and unreadable as ever.

“Like I said, wheels up in thirty!” Flag stood up, bracing himself against the interior of the van as they parked in the nearly empty lot. He picked up his jacket from the seat behind him before motioning for everyone to stand up and file out. It seemed that everyone in the peculiar group managed to simultaneously feel grumpy and giddy. At least, that was the vibe they gave off as they swaggered into the Super Walmart at three a.m. that Sunday morning.

Flag had been hesitant to leave behind his twitchy (ex)witchy so soon after the accident in Midway. However, the manic Quinn had finally worn him and Waller down. This resulted in an _absolutely necessary_ field trip to the superstore in the middle of the night, in the middle of New Jersey. Because they couldn't just go to any Walmart it had to be the all-American, two floor Crossgates Commons Supercenter. After all, Harley wanted to make sure they got the _right_ espresso machine.  

“If it’s a LaVazza then there’s no way it’ll fit into my cell. But those itty bitty Bialetti Express things never taste right, if ya ask me. But the new LUCCA A53 should be _perfect._ Especially since we can wire it so that it’ll hook up into the same spot as my bars- _woah!”_ the cotton candy colored killer interrupted her rambling with a gleeful exclamation. Lawton smirked and watched as she grabbed the Croc’s hand and skipped down an aisle. She left behind a series of pink and blue puddles that Flag made a point of smearing with his boot before following them. Katana stayed behind with Floyd and the Captain as they made their way to exercise equipment.

“Can you believe this shit?” Lawton asked to neither of them in particular. Digger took the bait for Lawton’s attempt at small talk.

“Nah, man. I been a jailbird a few times before, but nothin’ quite like this.” The captain didn’t initially verbalize his astonishment, but now that he had gotten a good look inside his first Walmart his fingers started to itch. “I mean, how in the hell do they fit all of this in here, anyway?”

“Bet you feel like a kid in a mothafuckin’ candy store, huh?”

“Bastard, you ain't seen me mid heist before. Remind me to take ya with me some time.”

“Good deal,” Lawton said, playing along before he stopped to inspect a punching bag.

Digger wandered over to the next section and the next section until he had his coat stuffed. Yes, sir, Captain Boomerang intended on walking out with a new pillow, a knife sharpener, a few cartons of cigs, a six pack of v-necks, a deck of playing cards and a six pack of beer. He was making his way back to the sports section, or whatever, when he heard a high pitched squeal and felt someone smooch him on the cheek.

“Well, I’ll be,” the Aussie exclaimed. “Didn’t tell me you had a crush on the ol’ Captain. Woulda offered to carry some stuff for you if you did.” Harley didn’t bat an eye and continued to smile up at him as she wiggled back and forth. Both of her arms were full of a bajillion different types of coffee beans, grinds and milks.

“She’s been like that since aisle twenty-five,” Croc growled and adjusted the box on his shoulder. Captain Boomerang shook his head at the giddy girl and laughed. Flag shouted at them from down the hall and motioned for them to come up front to check out. Harley sighed and pouted.

“We aint even get to go upstairs.”

“We’ll have a look see next go around,” Digger offered.

“Honest?!”

“Fair dinkum,” he assured. “Assuming you’ll figure out a way to make there a next time.”

The cashier did a double take when the team gathered at check out, but said nothing as the colonel slipped a fat wad into his hands and didn’t ask for change.  Deadshot placed his punching bag on the conveyor belt along with two rolls of red handwraps, a pair of gloves and your general stationery supplies. Croc laid down Quinn’s machine next to the rest of her groceries and a pile of thick, gaudy romance novels. For himself, the semi-aquatic meta-mammal had picked out a flat screen and a few hundred dollar bottles worth of champagne. Flag didn’t bother trying to get the captain to empty his pockets. He knew that they didn't have the time. Digger watched Harley add a few more things to everyone’s bag as they passed the junk stands on the way out the door, for good measure.

Be them stolen or paid for, they filled the van with their hard earned goods. Flag had shotgun while one of the more amenable Belle Reve guards drove. The rest of the team sectioned themselves from the others by building a wall of riches around them. Harley started one of her books while Deadshot inspected his gloves. Even Tatsu sat shining her sword with a new oil she had bought. Every once in awhile Digger could hear her whisper a few sweet nothings in Japanese to sharpened metal. Croc sat across from the captain in the back flipping through a magazine, stopping now and then to grunt and show him a picture of a car he liked.

The van skirted down the highway rumbling as they went up hill and screeching when they went down. A gentle and steady hum replaced the white noise as they crossed a bridge. Beneath them the water of the Delaware Bay beat itself up while the storm raged on. Croc and Digger were entertaining themselves by flicking trail mix at Flag. He turned around to yell at them when the side of the van decided to cave in on itself. The noise followed the action. The shrill cry of metal on metal resounded through the vehicle while its occupants bounced in the deathtrap like pennies in a coin purse. Tatsu shrieked in horror as the glass from the window behind her shattered. Harley dove over her pile to pull the bleeding woman into her arms on the somewhat safer side of the van. Flag and the guard fought for control of the steering wheel. Croc roared and held onto the seat for dear life.

The van began to spin and the flashing headlights from passing cars dizzied the unfortunate Captain. Digger had wrapped his hand tightly in the unused seat belt before he reached outside to close the door. The rain made the plastic coverings on the floor slippery. Digger felt his feet slide and eventually the floor dropped out from under him.  

 _“AARUGH!”_ Pain crisscrossed its way up and down his left side before settling on his arm. He heard a loud pop followed by the soft tear of cheap leather as the seatbelt unattached itself from the rest of the upholstery. He expected his fall to be short, his landing hard and his death by crushing of cranium beneath tire more than a little painful.

Instead he kept falling.

He saw the van come to a pitching stop, the back doors open and facing the oncoming traffic. A limp green arm hung out of the broken window. He heard his friend’s voices faintly calling after him. He reached to grab a spare boomerang but there were none to be found. _Fucking hell,_ Digger thought remembering that Flag had taken them out before they left. Even the ones hidden in the lining we replaced with insulating fabric for the journey north.

He was free falling to his death and all he could do was laugh at the irony of the situation. Of the two convicts sitting in the backseat the one that could hardly swim was thrown from the Volkswagen. The icy water burned like a thousand needles hitting him in a thousand different places at once. He kicked and punched at the waves. Then he started to feel heavy, and darkness began to creep into the corners of his eyes. The big bandit in the sky had come for his life and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record all of the espresso machines i listed are real as well as the Crossgate Commons Super Walmart. However, I am not a coffee wine connoisseur and the Commons is in New York not Jersey.


	2. Chapter One: Look what the cat dragged in

 

The Gotham River gurgled and groaned as the Delaware fed it like a strung out parent forcing a rubber nipple between a baby's lips. The early morning rain left the city and its river darker than usual. Only God knew how many bodies the GPD pulled out of there every year. _‘And only God knows how many they don't,’_ Tallulah thought. However, she didn't let this bother her. She knew what she was doing when she moved into the seedy East End. It had been her grimy, crime ridden home for almost ten years. Despite this, she loved it. There was something comforting about its cold red bricks and police tape blowing in the wind. Nearby a street lamp illuminated the lot behind the laundromat and the abandoned neighborhood Blockbuster. She was good friends with both.

She yawned, bringing up a tattooed hand to cover her mouth, and adjusted her grip on her purse. She was nearly finished with her commute home, her apartment complex in sight, when something caught her eye. Looking down to the riverside, she saw a lump in the mud. The light shining on the lump reflected across the nearby bricks forming a pattern of tiny silver boomerangs.

The lump moved and rolled over, revealing itself to be the remains of a man.

Tallulah dropped her bag and made her way towards him. She hastened with each step until she was sliding down the side of the muddy bank. She stopped by bracing herself against a cinder block. He was lying still on his back. There was no tangible pulse. She leaned over him to listen for his breathing and sighed upon feeling a puff of warm air on her ear.

Tallulah glanced at the regretfully vacant lot and debated whether to call the police. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, but he had a solid fifty pounds on her. Not that she doubted her own strength. No, Tallulah Keogh-Tombs did not go to the gym four days a week just for the bragging rights. But between the mud and the rain the odds were against them.

The man twitched beneath her. He was shivering and his lips were already blue. Against her better judgement, Tallulah groaned and repositioned herself to drag him up the hill. If she left him here he would die. _‘Although,'_ she wondered _, 'maybe that was why he was there in the first place.’_

She made three trips from the riverside to her apartment. One to deposit the would be cadaver at her doorstep. One to get her purse. One more to look for her keys. Her teeth were chattering by the time they got inside. She pushed him over the arm of her burgundy couch and locked the door.

Tallulah brushed his hair out face and smacked him a few times to stimulate blood flow - not at all out of vengeance for ruining her coat. Then she began the general procedure for treating mild hypothermia, something all natives of Gotham knew instinctively.

Wet clothes? Gone.

Heat? On.

Black coffee? Dripping into the pot.

When she tried to take his shirt off, the muscle spasmed beneath her hand, and he grimaced. She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the once white tank top in two. He had dislocated his shoulder. The bone protruded awkwardly from a patch of swollen skin. The area had already started to bruise. She lifted his arm up gingerly before placing a foot against the couch for balance. Tallulah pulled his arm slowly but forcefully toward her. Eventually, she heard a soft _‘clunk’_ as the joint slid back into its socket. He didn't grimace this time; the pain forcing him deeper into unconsciousness. She took off the rest of his clothes, save his boxers, for privacy’s sake. Then she wrapped him in every blanket she owned.

Tallulah took a deep breath and sat on the floor beside her companion. Once they were indoors with the advantage of 500 watt light bulbs she could get a good look at him. Shitty haircut, but nice hair, curly and blonde like a cherub's. His beard was due for a trim but surprisingly fitting for the rest of him. Washboard abs, arms bigger around than her thighs. She bet if he didn't look like absolute trash right now, he might not be absolute trash. However, she held her decision for a time when he didn't have two black eyes.

A flush spread out over his cheeks and the blue of his lips faded as his breathing evened out. She smiled as he wrinkled his nose in his sleep like an angry bunny.

Then she realized how creepy she was being and stopped.

A chill creeped up Tallulah’s neck and she shivered. By saving him she had neglected her own well-being. Promising the stranger that she’d be right back, she stood and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. She left it on the counter then went into her room to change. She emerged in gym shorts and thermal wielding a thermometer in her left hand. She grabbed her coffee cup and returned to her patient.

His temperature was a bit higher than usual, as expected. She pulled the blankets off to look at his shoulder again. The swelling left and in its place was a patchwork quilt of blue and purple that ran from his shoulder to his naval. She laid her hands on his chest and tsked.

 _'Poor bastard.'_ she thought _. 'They really did a number on you.’_ Broken ribs, three of them. She could feel it. The bruises weren't alone. More than a few scars decorated his abdomen. Some were smooth and white with age. More were fresh and pink. His hands also held a collection of both.

“Who are you?” she wondered aloud. Sadly, he didn't answer. Tallulah closed her eyes leaned down. She placed her head over his heart and listed to the steady, drum-like beat. Patting the ‘MUM’ tattoo over his left peck, she set to work.

 

Part of being slightly more willing team players came with the perk of looking after their own things. So, the team shared a private locker room next to the loading dock. The only things that separated the girls from the boys were a wall, a cage and the threat of Soultaker looming over their heads. Floyd’s guns and suit remained in their box in the locked cage across the room along with Harley’s pastel pistols and bat, Croc’s knives, a few of Flag’s customized goodies, and all of Boomerang’s boomerangs. The merc hung his coat up and shook his head.

There were less and less of them everyday.

“He was right,” the KC announced from the other side of the bench. “Chato.”

“Yeah.” Lawton slammed his locker closed and pulled his orange standards over his head. From behind the locked entrance Floyd could hear two people -a man and a woman- arguing. A few minutes later, the doors opened clanged open and Griggs shoved a sobbing Harley inside. Her face was more of a mess than usual. Her hair, which had fallen out of its usual pigtails, looked like a rat’s nest, and despite the Louisiana heat assaulting the prison grounds she was shivering.

She kicked her heels off and fell onto the bench. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, but it didn't do any good. Lawton knelt beside her.

“It’s my fault. I coulda just let Waller order something off Amazon, but no... _I_ dragged him up there and _I_ asked to drive because June told me Flag was afraid of heights and I wanted tah be _nice_ and then _I_ didn’t let him ride up front like he _asked_ a-and...” She burst back into sobs. Floyd nudged her knee, then her shoulder all the while trying very hard not to break his cardinal ‘NO HUGS’ rule.  

“Harley!” Floyd shouted. “It ain't nobody’s fault. A’ight? He asked to go, first of all. And Australia’s an island. If his dumb ass doesn't know how to swim then that’s on him too.”

“And that’s assuming’ he dead,” Jones offered.

“Exactly. Flag’s still up there lookin’, remember?” It was true. While Katana saw the other team members sent home in a helicopter, the soldier was partnering up with the nearest police stations to search for him. They hadn’t heard anything back yet, of course. But deep down inside Floyd Lawton dared to hope.

“You really think they’ll find him?” Harley asked, choking back a sob.

 _‘Some of him anyway,’_ he thought, but chose not to answer. Despite his inability to commiserate, he figured the psycho had had enough heartbreak recently. Thankfully, Jones could offer a more optimistic response.

“Definitely,” he growled.

“Level it, KC?”

“That part of the Delaware hooks up with Gotham River. Depending on the day, she feeds him or he feeds her,” he said. “For all we know he’s washed up in y'all's old hood.” Harley beamed and the Croc bared his teeth in an attempted smile.

“Yeah...you’re right,” she nodded her head and stood up. “Been so long, I’ve started forget!”

“Liar,” Floyd teased. “I know ‘Her Highness’ hasn’t forgotten the run of her kingdom.” She smirked and hit him in the shoulder before sauntering towards her locker. She stopped when she saw Digger’s box decorated with his flying emblem.

“What do you guys s’pose they did with Slipknot’s stuff?”

“Burned it,” Jones answered a little too quickly. “The furnace is down the hall from me. That ugly guard with the attitude took a couple of things for souvenirs.” Harley slouched and Floyd grimaced. He picked up her heels and walked toward her.

“Flag has to come by and brief us. I’m sure if we all said something we could keep him from gettin’ rid of Digger’s stuff for a little while,” Floyd suggested, hanging the stilettos on her fingers.

“Okay,” she whispered without turning around. She turned the corner, her little shoulders shaking all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but my OC's.


End file.
